Doomsday
by thespreadeagle
Summary: School shooting at McKinley. Be mindful of any triggers a story like this is likely to have, especially in light of the recent slew of disasters in the US. Klaine fic set sometime during season 3, semi-au. It's meant to be suspenseful and scary so please, please take care reading.
1. Part One

It's the perfect plan.

So perfect in fact, that Glenn has to laugh about just how easy, simple and flawless it is.

"What the fuck are you so perky about?" his girlfriend Michelle grumbles from the driver's seat, flicking the windshield wipers on against the rain.

"Nothing," he says in hopes that she'll let it go, but he knows her better than that. He sighs. "I don't know, I'm just really proud of this whole thing, I guess."

She snorts bitterly. "Well I should certainly hope so. I put my blood, sweat and tears into this shit." She pauses. "Actually, just sweat and tears so far. The blood's still to come."

Glenn smiles at her profile, fiddling with the m-11 semi-automatic pistol in his hand. "How about you two? You guys ready?" he asks, leaning around the seat to peer back at Charlie and Dave expectantly.

Charlie nods immediately. "I'm so psyched, man. This is going to be epic," he cheers as he bounces a little in his seat. Glenn might think he's a bit too happy-looking, but he doesn't comment on it.

David nods once. "Can we go over the plan one more time?"

Michelle sighs dramatically. "Glenn, babe? Will you do the honors?"

"Mm," he huffs in response, sitting up straighter in his seat. "Okay, we meet up in the photo lab before lunch to load up. I'll keep the bag with me until then. After the bell rings, we'll meet Lindsey and Valerie at the front of the cafeteria. They'll be coming from the parking lot with the cherries Linds has been working on – those are for the finale in the trenches. We lock up the main exits with padlocks that are in the bag. Karofsky, you'll cover the side door. The three of us will take our places on the tables and-" he raises his hands "-show time."

"Okay, two questions," Charlie starts. Michelle stifles a groan. "Remind me what a cherry is?"

"They're grenades, Charlie. We've been over this," she sighs.

"Oh, right. And trenches?"

Glenn rolls his eyes. "They're the hallways outside the cafeteria. They're the busiest at lunch but with all the shooting, they'll probably be empty. Won't stop the cherries from taking the building down though."

Charlie nods, his eyes bright with excitement. "Okay, I got this. We should have a team name." He thinks for a second, biting his lip. "Ooh, can we call it _Team_ _Storm_ or or-"

"Can we not?" Michelle mutters. "If anything we'd call it like 'the Crusaders' or some shit. Not that comic book crap."

"'The Crusaders' sounds like a children's soccer team."

"Shut up, Glenn."

He smiles at her as they pull into the parking lot, but then frowns at the gloomy expression on Karofsky's face. "Dave?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm ready. Crusaders," he says with false enthusiasm just as Michelle pulls the keys from the ignition. "I've got a Chem test to blow off. I'll see you guys at show time." Without a glance at any of them, Karofsky hops out of the van and makes a beeline for the school.

"You sure we can trust him?" Michelle asks after a moment.

Glenn squeezes her knee. "Don't worry about it, I've got it under control. Just think about all the kids in that cafeteria today. The lunch ladies, maybe even Mr. Shuester or somebody. The crusaders…" he smiles, almost wistfully. "We're going to make history, my psychotic compadres."

It's the perfect plan.

Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine's waist, groaning when he feels the press of the other boy's erection hot against his thigh through two pairs of jeans.

Until a few weeks ago, the supply closet had never been more than just another door in one of the many McKinley High hallways. Of course he's heard the whispers, kids that skipped class for an emergency make out session in the middle of the day with nowhere to go but a tiny storage room of cleaning and office supplies. The epitome of romance. He's always thought that those kids were just silly, hormonal teenagers incapable of self control (which they were), but now that he's got Blaine, he's certainly starting to see the appeal.

"You're so amazing," Blaine breathes gruffly into the flushed skin of Kurt's neck, sending a wave of goose bumps down his body. "God, _Kurt_."

It's not that the supply closet is entirely unappealing. It does offer some privacy which is virtually unheard of otherwise when they're at school and the smallness of the room sort of requires them to be as close as possible at all times. Though when his nose isn't breathing in Blaine's skin or raspberry hair gel or cinnamon gum, it's smelling generic floor cleaner and number 2 pencils – hardly the ideal venue for the hot and heavy sort of activity. Regardless, they make it work.

A surprised squeak escapes Kurt's lips when Blaine's elbow knocks over a box of staplers, sending them scattering loudly across the scuffed linoleum. He giggles when Blaine mutters a dismissive, breathy "oops" against Kurt's lips.

They'd first explored the supply closet after Kurt and some of the other members of the Glee club had endured Santana's ten-minute spiel about how fantastic it is to spend some 'wanky time' there. Curious, he'd slipped Blaine a note on his way to Calculus, very discreet. Blaine had met him as the note depicted, looking nervous and adorable as ever, and Kurt hadn't been able to help himself. They'd stayed through fourth period and lunch, and decided they very much liked the supply closet. Long story short, Kurt hasn't been to a French class in a week.

"Blaine," Kurt moans, twisting his fingers into the ungelled curls at the back of Blaine's neck. His hips buck involuntarily, eliciting a low whine from the back of Blaine's throat that only intensifies the heat pooling in Kurt's stomach. The bell rings and Kurt pulls back, laughing when Blaine tries to follow. "Lunch time, lover boy."

"What?" Blaine's eyes are blown and glazed. He blinks slowly. "Oh come on, five more minutes."

Kurt grins knowingly, wiping a bit of saliva from the corner of Blaine's mouth with his thumb. "Sorry, B. I promised Rachel I'd eat with her today." He straightens his clothes, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I'll see you later," he says, patting Blaine's butt on the way out. Blaine snickers under his breath. "Love you too," he adds in amusement over his shoulder before the closet door can shut behind him. He continues down the hall toward the cafeteria, a content smile spread wide on his face.

The photography teacher, Ms. Wolfe, is unexpectedly the first kill of the day. Charlie had assured them that she'd be in the lounge for lunch but instead she walks in on them loading up, resulting in Michelle using a box cutter to off her before the older woman even has the chance to react. She orders Dave to take the body and stash it in the dark room, which he does but not before turning a sick shade of green.

Glenn and Charlie argue over which one of them gets to use the shotgun. Michelle swoops in like the irritable mother hen she is, deciding for them. "Honestly guys, your lack of maturity is impressive," she retorts, rolling her eyes as she hands Charlie the weapon.

"I don't think we should use the padlocks," Lindsay says when they've met up outside the cafeteria. "Val and I can just block them-"

"Fine, fine," Michelle interrupts. "Do whatever. Standing here though is a little less than inconspicuous."

They're all a bit jittery upon entering the cafeteria, more with excitement though than nerves. Michelle's serenity calms Glenn, whose own serenity then reassures Charlie and so on. The three of them approach the tables nonchalantly while Dave and the other girls move to stand in the way of the doors, smiling or waving at any suspicious looks as casually as possible.

The Crusaders exchange a glance once in position. Michelle breathes, "Show time."

Kurt moves lazily with the lunch line, a dreamy gleam in his eye from his exploits in the supply closet. He spots Rachel sitting with Quinn and Puck at the opposite end of the cafeteria near the back wall. He exchanges pleasantries with Ms. Rose before heading toward his friends when there's a hand gripping his arm.

"Dave?" he asks in alarm, trying to twist out of the other boy's grasp. "Karofsky, what are you doing?"

"You've got to get out of here," Dave states gruffly under his breath. "Go – hide in the kitchen or something. Don't make any noise until… Just don't make any noise, okay? Go, now." There's an edge to his voice that makes Kurt feel sick.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Kurt _please_," he begs, refusing to meet his gaze, eyes trained somewhere across the room. "Please, there's no time."

He starts to pull Kurt toward the kitchen and Puck sees them, standing at once. Kurt shakes Dave off, grounds his feet. "Dave, tell me what's going on right now. What's wrong?" he demands, properly concerned by the sweat forming at Dave's temples, the redness of his eyes.

Karofsky curses in frustration, trying again to maneuver them to the door. "I can't stop them, it's too late. Please just get out of here!" He releases Kurt too harshly, causing him to stumble forward a step. Kurt's brow furrows in confusion at the terrified look on his face. "Go!"

Puck appears behind him then, a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. "You okay, man?"

Dave's eyes fix somewhere behind them, the color draining from his face.

"Dude, what's wr-"

"GOOD MORNING MCKINLEY HIGH!" an unfamiliar voice booms, a slight echo reverberating off the high ceilings, sending a hush about the room.

Kurt spins around, tensing immediately. Three kids, two boys and a girl, are standing on the tables, all dressed in black from head to toe, all armed, all smiling. Dave steps back toward the side exit looking almost as scared as Kurt feels. Much to his horror, Dave's armed, too.

The taller of the two boys continues in a dark, sickly smooth voice. "Welcome to Doomsday."


	2. Part Two

Blaine spends a few minutes alone in the supply closet to collect himself, ruthlessly plotting in his head ways to get Kurt back for leaving him like that. He steps out into the hall and is nearly run down by a pair of mean-looking girls in black t-shirts, neither of whom so much as glance back at him, let alone apologize.

He meets up with Tina outside her stats class.

"Hey you," he says as she loops her arm through his.

"Blaine."

"Hm?"

"You're glowing," she notes knowingly. "Like more than usual. What gives?"

Blaine frowns. "Can't a person just be happy?"

"Yes," she laughs, nudging his shoulder with her own. "But considering your fourth period class is in the opposite direction of that which you came, I'd say that grin on your face is the result of a steamy closet date with Kurt. I'm right, aren't I?"

He hangs his head, unable to contain the giddy smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "So we might've skipped fourth together."

Tina erupts in a string of AH-HA's and I-KNEW-IT's. "Blaine, this is the third time this week!" He shrugs and she giggles in delight. "You two are so adorable, I don't think you realize."

Blaine beams like the love-struck idiot he is. That's when the first shot rings out. It's faint, muffled, almost dismissible, but Blaine stops. "Did you hear that?" he asks. The hall quiets, others listening as well.

Jacob Ben Israel is suddenly hurdling around the corner, eyes wide with unmistakable fear. "Shooter! Someone's got a gun in the school!"

The hallway jolts to life then, students scrambling for the exits, leaving backpacks and papers and textbooks in their wake. Blaine takes Tina's hand and pulls her with a group being herded into a classroom by Mr. Shuester. Two more shots sound in quick succession and more screaming ensues, but with the way the halls echo and project, there's no way to tell which direction it's coming from.

Shuester waves a few more kids in before turning to Blaine. "Barricade the door, keep it closed, don't open it for anyone," he orders gravely before shutting the door without another word. Blaine waves for a couple kids to help him bar it with a desk and a few chairs. A blonde boy adds a lamp. They step back, staring blankly at their pile for a moment.

"Holy shit," the boy whispers in disbelief.

"I'm gonna call 9-1-1," a short girl in a pink sweatshirt says.

"Blaine," Tina cries, clutching his arm. "Mike's out there somewhere, and the others. And-"

"Kurt," he breathes, finishing for her. He pulls his phone out from his back pocket. He dials 1, presses call and waits.

One ring. Two rings. Three.

"Come on, Kurt, pick up," he whispers pleadingly, drumming the fingers of his free hand on his thigh. Tina's watching him with too much hope in her eyes.

"Hi-"

"KURT-"

"-you've reached Kurt Hummel, leave a message and I'll ring you back soon as I can."

His heart sinks. He says at the beep, "Kurt, where are you? There's a shooter in the school, or something I- I don't know what's happening just- when you get this, please call me back, okay? I love you." Blaine hangs up and stares numbly at the screen for a moment.

Tina gets out her own phone, but Blaine doesn't really pay her much attention. "Mike's not answering either," Tina concedes after a quiet second. Blaine still hasn't moved so she shakes his arm a little, breaking through his fog. "What do we do? Blaine-"

"I don't know," he whispers brokenly. "I don't know what to do." He blinks hard, takes in a deep breath, tries to stop his brain from thinking what it's thinking. "They're fine, I know they are," he adds in a measly attempt at reassurance, though neither of them is fooled by the fragility of his voice. They sit quietly for a moment, listening vaguely to the sounds of the outside, their own thoughts loud.

Three more shots fire somewhere in the school.

"Yes, we're in room 107," the girl in the pink sweatshirt says into her phone. "Please hurry. No, no one's hurt, I- yes. Yes, okay." She hangs up and is seemingly startled by three pairs of eyes on her, waiting expectantly. "She said to stay put, stay quiet and keep the door closed."

They fall quiet again. Blaine seems to decide something and lifts his phone. "I'm going to try Kurt again."

He drops to the floor with everyone else at the crack of the first shot. A boy in a plaid shirt is lying still on the floor beneath one of the girls' feet when Kurt looks up, seeming to have tried to run. Others with the same idea backtrack immediately, skidding to a halt on the slick linoleum floors. A few people scream at the sight of the boy. He can hear Rachel crying. There are so many people in the room, too many people. They can't have enough bullets to kill this many people. _Too many people. _He needs to calm down. He can't do anything breathing like this, except maybe pass out. He thinks he can feel his phone vibrating. He needs to breathe. Why can't he _breathe_ . . . ?

The girl on the table, tall and thin with dark brown hair tied up in a pony tail at the top of her head, fires three times at the ceiling, laughing at the screams she gets in response. "Greetings boys and girls," she says, smiling shortly at the boy nearest her, the one who'd been yelling before. He grins wolfishly back. "I'm Michelle. I'll be your host this evening."

"Jesus," Puck mutters next to Kurt.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why I've gathered you here today. I could go the dull, monotonous route and say we're here to take a stand against the oppression of today's youth in and by society. That we represent the introverts, the outcasts, and that we demand to be both heard and taken seriously, yada yada." She's very theatrical, Kurt thinks, almost as though she's reciting a script. Her boots set a steady rhythm as she speaks. "And while all that's really well and good, it's not the whole reason."

She's quiet for a long time. The anticipation makes Kurt feel nauseous. His head is pounding, heart racing. He clears his throat. "W-what's the whole reason?" he asks unsteadily. The girls head whips toward him. He coughs a little to rid his voice of its breathiness. "Why are you doing this?"

"_Kurt_," Rachel cries quietly from a few feet away. Quinn squeezes her shoulders to try and keep her quiet. Kurt doesn't look away from the girl with the gun.

"You hush," Michelle snaps at Rachel, hopping off the table to approach him. She crouches down beside him, smiling up at him from under her eyelashes. His eyes are on the gun in her hand, swinging lazily between them. "Guess," she says simply. She moves the gun towards him and he tries to flinch away but he can't move. Placing the nose of it under his chin, she tilts his head up to meet her eyes. "Why am I doing this?"

Kurt sucks in a breath through his nose. He doesn't have an answer. If he says the wrong thing, something she doesn't like, she'll likely shoot him like that boy in the plaid shirt bleeding out on the floor across the room. If he says nothing, she'll shoot him anyway. "I- I'd assume maybe for the fame of it. Go down in history."

She holds his eyes for several terrifying seconds, intense and unblinking. "Coach Sylvester calls you 'Porcelain.' That right?"

He looks at her in confusion, but nods.

"Suits you," Michelle says and one of the other boys chuckles. She stands up. "Fair guess, Porcelain, but no. No, the fame's just a bonus." She turns away, starts toward the boy on the floor. "The real reason-" she lifts the gun at a girl in a Cheerios uniform and fires before the girl's fear can register, and the girl's body drops to the ground "- thrill of the kill."

A few of the kids around the limp Cheerio rush to her aid, a few burst into tears, several others scream. One of the boys fires once at the ceiling and yells to quiet them down. Kurt's mind is loud – _too many people_.

"Glenn, did you see that?! Damn!" she _cheers_. The boys laugh.

"Fun," Kurt whispers in shock. Michelle turns to back to him with an amused gleam in her eye. "You're . . . you're doing this for fun?!" Disgust. Rage. Hatred. They fill him up like a roaring fire, replacing the confusion and dulling the fear.

"Kurt," Puck warns, stretching out a hand in effort to calm him down.

He shrinks out of his reach. "No! That boy, that boy's dead! And now she's shot someone else! All for th-the _thrill of the kill?!_" he snaps at him, as though Puck might be able to do something about it.

"In the words of John Bender," the boy with the shotgun interrupts, smirking at Kurt. "You're pretty sexy when you get angry."

There's a large crimson stain on the front of the girl's uniform and the boy on the floor hasn't moved in several minutes. The others laugh.


	3. Part Three

Burt glances at the clock for the third time since he got off the phone. It's nearly his lunch break and Carole's stopping by to eat with him, bringing along goodies from her work – secretly, of course, otherwise Kurt'll have his head. He wishes his son wouldn't worry so much; he's been good, eats all the health food nonsense Kurt concocts for him and he takes walks every day. It's pretty safe to say the man deserves a burger every now and then.

"Burt." He looks up from his work over an old Toyota at Frank whose head is popping out into the garage from the front office. Frank's face is a bit paler than usual in contrast to his dark mustache and his hair's jutting out in different directions like he's run his hands through it. If not for the seriousness in his eyes, Burt might've laughed.

"There's, ah… the news. You're going to want to see this."

Burt sets down his tools in favor of a charcoal-stained rag to wipe off his hands on the walk to the office, brows furrowed. The tiny, outdated television set in the upper corner of the sitting area is lit by one of Lima's three main news channels.

SHOTS FIRED AT LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL

His heart about leaps out his throat and he's reaching for the phone before he can really think about it. He dials Kurt automatically.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

He grumbles but doesn't leave a message when his son's voicemail sings through the phone, sounding relaxed and collected as usual. Instead he hangs up halfway through it and dials Finn, who (thank God) answers on the second ring. _Good to know these damn cell phones are good for something._

"Burt?"

"Are you alright?" he demands, his voice hard.

"Uh, yeah, I- I'm fine…" The uneasiness of his stepson's voice is less than convincing.

"Finn, I need you talk to me, okay bud? Where are you?" Burt asks. Frank watches him closely as Burt holds his breath, trying to stay calm while his mind screams at him to do anything but.

There's heavy breathing on the other end for a moment. Then, "I'm in the, uh, the parking lot? With Mike and Sam. They're getting kids onto the buses, I don't –"

One son is safe, that's good, though the panic causing Burt's thoughts to muddle together doesn't let up. "Is Kurt with you?" he asks, cutting him off.

"I- no. H-he and Rachel, they're still inside, I think, in the cafeteria. I haven't seen them. I was going to meet them but I had to pee…" His voice cuts off with a harsh sniffle.

Burt nods, mind reeling. "Okay. Okay, that's okay. Do you know where they're taking everybody? The buses?"

"I think the guy said the community center? Bradfield probably but I don't- I'm sorry, I don't know."

He sounds tired. Burt adjusts his baseball cap, picks up his car keys. "Get on a bus, kid. I'm on my way."

"You do one, baby," Michelle insists, a little bounce in her step as she approaches Glenn, gesturing excitedly to his weapon.

The other boy whose name Kurt's yet to learn grins at one of the girls by the door, waggling his eyebrows.

She rolls her eyes. "Why can't we all have a little fun?" the girl whines, stomping her foot like an impatient toddler.

"Val," the girl near the 'out' door chides. "We agreed-"

"Yeah, well." She fires abruptly into the crowd of students to her left, the ones circling the unconscious Cheerio. They scream and some dart on their hands and knees for the tables, as though those will offer some protection. Kurt squeezes his eyes shut.

He loses count of the shots after five, willing his thoughts to drown out everything else. He thinks of his friends, he thinks of his dad, he thinks of Blaine _oh god what if I don't get out of here – _clearly that isn't working so he starts to hum to himself. There's a hand on his arm and he goes rigid.

"Kurt," Puck whispers and he relaxes slightly. "Man, listen to me. The kitchens are wide open. There's a door at the back that leads out to the quad. They're distracted, okay? We've got to go now!"

Kurt inhales sharply when Puck tugs on his arm. After a moment of jumbled, panicked thoughts that didn't really arrive at anything Kurt gives him a minute nod of agreement and Puck starts motioning to Quinn and the others, keeping an eye on Michelle who's now screeching angrily at Val.

Kurt's eyes dart from shooter to shooter in terrible anticipation, relieved to find the boys rolling their eyes almost fondly at the others as they bicker on. When he turns to follow Puck and the girls in a crawl toward the kitchens at the back of the cafeteria, his eyes lock with Karofsky's. Kurt freezes.

Dave's bottom lip is clamped between his teeth, turning the pinkish skin a dull white. His eyes are foggy and red as they bore into Kurt's. It seems like days and then - he nods at Puck, almost as though urging Kurt to go with them. Shouldn't he be stopping them? Alerting the other shooters?

"Kurt, come on!" Puck cries in a hushed whisper, shaking him away from his brain's insistent questions and into flight mode. There's a train of kids making their way toward the kitchens, Quinn and Rachel crawling hurriedly in the lead.

He pauses, considering. "Come with us," Kurt finds himself saying, looking back into the eyes of the boy that took so much from him in the past. "You don't have to be a part of this David, you don't. Not if you don't want to."

"We don't have a very wide window of opportunity here, man!" Puck whisper-shouts.

Karofsky's eyebrows knit together sadly. "I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"Kurt, we've got to go!"

"I'm already in this, Kurt, I can't go now. You have to though; they could turn around any second." Dave shifts the gun into one hand to shove him toward the kitchens. "Go!"

More shots are fired and he notices sirens somewhere in the distance as an afterthought. Kurt goes.


	4. Part Four

It all seems to happen in slow motion.

He's crawling along the tile a few feet behind Puck, his eyes fixed on the backs of the other boys' boots as they follow the little cluster of kids away from the screaming and the guns.

Michelle seems to notice them then. She shouts, "Hey!" and then there's more firing and louder screaming and Glenn's hissing, "Karofsky, what the hell man?" and another shot, this one heavier like that of a shotgun, and a thump as a body hits the floor. Kurt tries to focus on Puck's boots through the stinging moisture in his eyes but he's sweating and scared and the kitchen is so far away.

Then Puck's getting to his feet and shouting for him to run so he does, stumbling over his boots in the process. He trips over himself first getting to his feet, then again when his foot slides through a pool of spilled orange juice.

The clumsiness lands him several feet behind Puck but he makes it to the door with a small huff of victory, but it's muffled by the sound of another gunshot.

He hears it before he feels it, the sharp tear of metal through skin that seems to echo through the small doorway of the kitchen and more off the stainless countertops as he rounds the corner, away from the horror in the next room. He bolts the steel swinging door into place and Puck helps him move a table to block it, along with an array of kitchen supplies and utensils. Puck pushes through the exit at the back and for a split second Kurt's alone.

It's in that second he realizes that they're leaving people behind, leaving them to die.

He reaches the exit before the door closes, holding it open as he realizes something else.

"It only locks from the inside," Kurt whispers.

He looks up to see Puck gaping at him, wide-eyed. "Kurt, n-" He pulls the heavy door shut with a grunt of exertion, effectively locking the others safely outside despite Puck's muffled protests.

Kurt doesn't notice the red staining the cloth of his shirt as he twists the lock and then reaches up to slide the vertical latch into place at the top of the door, reaching for the fire extinguisher on the wall in the same motion to bang against it, bending the bar of metal out of shape and successfully eliminating the door as a possible escape route. The movement jars him more than it should and that's when he registers the wet trail of something dripping hotly down his back.

The air leaves him in a rush and he feels dizzy as he looks down. He breathes in deeply through his nose as he assesses the wide expanse of blood spreading across his now-unsalvageable long sleeve top. He can't see the wound with all the red in the way but he can certainly feel it, a white hot burning just below his shoulder blade, and more in his side toward his ribs.

He can hear Michelle yelling at Glenn to get the door open and he pushes himself off the door with his palms, looking around wildly for a place to hide. He slots himself in between a narrow cabinet and a pantry at the side of the room, opposite the stoves just as Val snaps, "Just fucking shoot it already!"

Michelle groans irritably. "You be quiet, you've done quite enough."

"What the hell? There isn't anyone else left! Dave's the one that let the rest of them go, not me!"

There isn't anyone left. Kurt tries to breathe through what that means. The six or seven kids that were left near the Cheerio are gone. David is, too. He's alone.

"And you'll be next if you don't shut the—" Glenn starts, anything else cut off by the sound of someone shooting out the lock off the door.

_But the others are safe_, he reasons. They got out and there's no chance these psychos will be able to chase after them now, even if they manage to push past the table—which Glenn and the other boy are doing right now. Kurt breathes, closes his eyes.

"Well, find them!" Michelle orders coldly.

Kurt watches as Glenn comes into his line of sight across the room, dragging the nose of his gun along the steel tabletop. He stops at the door with a huff. "Babe, they took off. It's empty in here." He rubs his forehead, curses under his breath.

"You're shitting me right now. Fifteen kids? That's fucking it?!" the girl whose name Kurt doesn't know exclaims furiously and the clatter of a pan on the floor makes Kurt start. He clamps a hand over his mouth. "I did not sign up to kill any less than that fucker Seung-Hui Cho or whatever the fuck at Virginia Tech. You fucking promised!"

A tear rolls silently down Kurt's cheek.

"Will you relax? The school's on lockdown," Glenn supplies.

"So?"

"So, I bet you twenty bucks there's still people hiding in the classrooms. We've just got to go and find them." Kurt can hear the smile in his voice. "Come on."

Kurt's face crumples with a mixture of relief at the sound of the door swinging shut and terror at the thought of more victims. He keeps his ears open and focuses through the painful pulsing in his abdomen as five sets of footfalls grow increasingly quieter. He's not taking any chances though, keeps absolutely still until the only sounds that can be heard outside his breathing is the faint drip of a leaky faucet.

Slowly, he squeezes out from his hiding spot, collapsing to the rough floor mats beneath the sink with a pained cry.

He doesn't know how long he stays there, gasping and crying as quietly as possible alone on the floor. After a while, though, his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket. He hurries to silence it, his tears starting afresh at the sight of Blaine's bright, squinty smile peering up at him from the screen. He's never hit the answer button so fast in his life.

"Blaine," he chokes.

"Oh my God, Kurt! Oh thank God."

"Blaine."

"Are you alright? Where are you? I'm in Schuester's class. Are you okay?"

Kurt shakes his head. "Blaine, you have to get out—" A sharp pain in his back cuts him off and he bites his lip hard to keep from crying out.

"Kurt? Oh God, are you hurt? Tell me what's happening."

"I'm in the- in the kitchen. You have to get out of the school. The-there's five of them, Blaine. Five shooters, they're going to search the classrooms, they—" His voice cracks as a flash of the boy in the plaid shirt jolting and slumping to the floor plays in his head before he can stop it. "Blaine, they killed people. They killed so many people." He whimpers as more tears fall, sounding smaller than he's ever allowed himself to feel.

He listens to Blaine's shaky inhale of breath, thinks he can hear someone asking him what's going on—Tina, maybe?

"It's going to be okay, Kurt-"

"Please, Blaine." His eyelids are growing heavier. "Please get out." His breaths are growing slower. "You have to be safe."

There are gun shots then and for a terrifying second, Kurt thinks they've come back. Then he realizes he heard them through the phone. He jerks in surprise, the motion shooting white hot pain up his spine. "Blaine," he mouths desperately, barely above a breath as the darkness takes him.


	5. Part Five

Carole arrives at the tire shop at the same time her phone rings. Curiously, her husband's name lights up the screen. It's not often Burt uses his cell phone considering how much he hates them, why Carole doesn't know. She answers, "Hey honey, I just got here with your food-"

"Carole."

Her smile vanishes immediately. Something's wrong. "What is it, what happened?" She looks up at the _Hummel Tires & Lube_ sign overhead while he fills her in, stress and worry in his soft voice. "I'll pick Finn up at the community center and take him home. If you wait, I'll go with you to the school. Kurt will need you when they get him out of there," she tells him firmly.

"Yeah I mean, no," Burt stumbles, sighing heavily. "I'll go, you just get Finn home. Kid sounded scared to death on the phone. I'll call you when I know something. Love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart. He'll be just fine, I know it."

"Yeah."

When Carole arrives at the community center, it's absolute chaos. News trucks and school buses occupy the bulk of the parking lot and surrounding streets, the spaces between them overrun by flocks of searching parents, students and teachers.

Finn spots her over the heads of the others and weaves clumsily through the crowd, falling into her embrace. She holds him while he cries, overwhelmed by the events of the last few hours.

"Rachel's out, she got out, Quinn and Puck and a few others, too," he says between sobs. She pulls back to look at him, hope lighting her teary eyes. "She called me from the police car. They're on their way," he sniffles. "She's okay."

He falls into her again and she holds him gladly, ushers for him to sit on the curb with her.

"Have you heard from Kurt?" he asks once he's caught his collects himself a little.

Carole closes her eyes, rests her head on his shoulder. "I haven't, sweetie. But Burt's on his way there now. I'm sure he'll be just fine, okay?" She winces at the hint of uncertainty in her voice, breathing a sigh of relief when Finn doesn't catch it. "He'll be just fine."

Twenty-seven shots. There've been twenty-seven shots in the last fifteen minutes if Blaine's been able to count correctly through the adrenaline pounding in his ears. He sent out a mass text to everyone he could think of a few minutes into their lockdown. So far Sam, Santana, Artie, Mercedes, Sugar and, much to Tina's tearful relief, Mike have all replied with confirmation of their safety.

Finn calls as the adrenaline starts to wear off, making Blaine's heart jump. "Finn! Is Kurt with you?"

"No, Kurt isn't with me. Mom's here but Burt's on his way there."

_Shit_, Blaine thinks. _He must be worried out of his mind, not to mention his heart.._.

Finn clears his throat. "Where are you?"

"I'm in, uh, Mr. Shuester's classroom. I've got Tina a-and a couple other kids with me. We barricaded the door." He listens as Finn repeats the information, presumably to Carole. "Do you think the police are here yet? Do they know who the shooters are? Where are they? We need to find Kurt. Do they–"

"Blaine, we don't know anything. There're a few cops here, but Mom doesn't think they know anything. Says they probably wouldn't tell us if they did."

Blaine groans in frustration. "The lady on the phone told us to stay here but waiting is killing me. I need to go find Kurt."

"Blaine, no, I don't-"

There's a beep and Blaine pulls his phone back to look at it – low battery. He curses. "Finn, I gotta go, my phone's gonna die and Kurt might call." He hangs up and plops back against the wall, eyes falling shut for a moment.

The others in the classroom argue off and on about whether or not it's best to stay put like the woman on the phone suggested, or to make a run for it. Blaine only sort of listens.

"We should stay here!" the girl in the pink sweatshirt says. "We don't know where they are or how many of them there are. We should just stay here."

The blonde boy shakes his head. "But if we stay here, we risk the chance that they could come looking for us, anyone that might be hiding. If they come in here, we're fucked. Chairs and staplers aren't exactly efficient defense against bullets."

"Guys," Tina says, looking back at Blaine worriedly. He's staring at his phone. She sighs. "Look, I think we should just wait for the police."

The boy scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Do you _watch_ television? The cops won't come in here until they know absolutely everything about everything. The shooters, their weapons, the hostages – it'll take hours! We can't just sit and wait, I'm going crazy."

Blaine figures trying Kurt one more time won't hurt, especially if they're going to get themselves killed trying to escape. Ignoring the others, he holds the phone to his ear.

_Ring. Ring. _Then-

His heart drops when the line connects through a slew of static. "Blaine."

He gasps, straightening up at the sound of his name, that voice he's been aching to hear for what feels like decades now. "Oh my God, Kurt! Oh, thank God." He can feel the tension draining from his shoulders as he speaks.

"Blaine," Kurt rasps.

The tension comes crawling back quicker than it'd left. "Are you alright? Where are you? I'm in Schuester's class, I was so scared. Are you okay?" He drums his foot anxiously against the leg of a chair awaiting his boyfriend's reply, not bothering to acknowledge Tina's eyes on him.

"Blaine, you have to get ou-"

Kurt breaks off with a strangled gasp and Blaine's heart clenches painfully in his chest, eyes darting around the room helplessly. "Kurt? Oh God, are you hurt? Tell me what's happening," he says desperately, eyes wide.

Bits of Kurt's speech are cut out by more static and he can't figure out if it's the reception or Kurt's labored breathing that's doing it. "I'm in the…" Blaine waits, biting his lip worriedly. "-in the kitchen. You have to get out of the school. The-there's five of them, Blaine. Five shooters, they're going to search the classrooms, they—" He stops and Blaine brings a hand up to cover his own mouth at the sob that follows. This isn't right. He should be there with him. He could've been shot, _oh god what if he was shot, he's probably bleeding_ – "Blaine, they killed people. They killed so many people." Kurt whimpers and it's more than enough to break Blaine's heart.

"What's going on? Is he okay?" Tina asks, but he waves her off.

"It-" Blaine takes a deep breath when his voice fails him the first time, coming out in a broken whisper. This isn't right. They should be together for this. He can't be alone. "It's going to be okay, Kurt –"

"Please, Blaine," Kurt says softly, gravelly like it gets in when they've talked until two in the morning and he can't stay awake anymore. "Please get out…" Blaine doesn't know what to say. What does he _say_? "You have to be safe."

His face crumples. "I lo-" There's a sickeningly familiar _crack_ of a gun going off at the same time he begins his sentence, and the others shush him as two more ring out through the halls. He presses the phone hard to his face, as if to hold Kurt as close as possible.

"Oh, God." Tina clutches at his arm. The four of them shift together away from the door. "What if they come in here?"

Voices filter softly in from down the hall. Blaine thinks he can hear laughter. He bites back the sudden urge to vomit.

"There's always the window," the blonde boy whispers.

Blaine doesn't really think before he nods, getting to his feet and tucking his still-connected phone into his pocket. "Guess we'll have to break them, won't we?" he guesses quietly as he takes in the latch-less windows that don't ordinarily open.

"Break them and make a run for it. The gym's down the hall in the opposite direction of the cafeteria. If we hurry we might make it," the blonde agrees, helping Blaine lift one of the desks. "I'm Dylan, by the way. Case we die," he adds sheepishly.

"Lydia," the girl in the pink sweatshirt murmurs.

"I'm Tina," Tina says, smiling warmly at the girl.

"Blaine." He looks to the blonde boy, Dylan, and nods once. "Ready?"

"One. Two. Three."

They heave the desk through the windows, effectively carving an escape route for themselves out into the west hall, opposite the shooters. They set the desk heavily down under the window like a step ladder.

Blaine's body feels on fire with a new rush of adrenaline as he and Dylan help the girls out into the hall first. He gives Dylan a boost through and follows closely after, dropping to the linoleum with a squeak of his oxfords. They dart off in a sprint toward the gym. When Tina looks back over her shoulder either to look for shooters or to make sure he's still behind her, Blaine just says, "Keep going!"

Lydia pushes through to the heavy doors at the foot of the hall and they scuttle across the basketball court, sneakers sliding noisily along. Dylan slips, yelling, "Jesus!" but Blaine catches him, pulling him quickly back to his feet. They reach the door out to the PE yard and Blaine's never been happier to see the sky.


	6. Part Six

It gets to the point he thinks he can make out the shape of unicorn in the plaster patterns on the ceiling. Then it's the outline of an oxford shoe, then a rose. Then the rose grows a sister and they turn red and yellow as they dance and he's murmuring _congratulations_ to one of his favorite people in the world, smiling when his hazel eyes light up in surprise.

Kurt's mind is racing. He can't seem to focus on anything at all, let alone on getting his breath and heart rate under control. His eyes flicker wantonly from the ceiling to the top of the freezer door and back to the ceiling. He can't seem to stop them from moving and it's driving him crazy. Well, that and the fact that the Katy Perry concert in his brain doesn't seem to want to shut up.

He's helping his dad try to make a soufflé for the fourth Sunday in a row. Mercedes is throwing a rock through his windshield. Rachel's in a witch's hat singing about munchkins in a terrible New York accent. Blaine's running calloused fingertips over his chest on prom night, grinning from ear to ear. He kicks a field goal and the stadium erupts in applause.

He feels like he's losing his mind.

"I went there you know," Sadie says, gazing wistfully, if a little sadly over at McKinley High School. She's seated on the rear bumper of the ambulance, its driver perched snugly next to her. "Graduated, what, nearly six years ago now?"

Jason nods, "Same. Class of '03, though." He runs a hand over his shaved head. "I can't believe this is happening there of all places. Friggin' surreal."

Sadie's radio goes off, Stacey at the station alerting them of the police chief's arrival on scene. "Time to go," she sighs. "You'll be around, right?"

"Yeah, EMTs on standby till they know something of substance. Could be a while. I'll be here." He flashes a toothy grin. "Go get 'em, tiger."

She heads across the lot to the cluster of freshly-arrived squad cars. She nods to Kyle and Tyler as they get out of theirs, faces grim like Jason's has been all morning. They meet her halfway and she groans in thanks for the cup of steaming coffee Kyle hands her.

"Any news?" he asks. They watch the chief get out of the car, the woman's face hard, eyes beady as usual as they take in the territory.

"Uh, yeah actually. Six kids got out through the school kitchens about thirty minutes ago, said the cafeteria's where the shooters are. One kid, he had this Mohawk wouldn't stop going on about how they had to go back for his friend Kurt, that they left Kurt, that Kurt saved them," she shrugs. "Once they got the damned kid calmed down enough, though, they were able to pull some info on the suspects." She pauses, looks between them. "All they know so far is that there's six of them and one of their names is Michelle. Oh and another one, Dave Kar… something, but he apparently helped them get out, so."

Tyler hums, "Must've had second thoughts," words laced heavily with sarcasm.

A clunker of a tow truck pulls up then and Sadie wonders how the driver managed to get through the roadblocks they'd set up coming in on the surrounding streets. She understands, however, when the man steps out. He's wearing a mechanic's work overalls and a worn orange baseball cap, and the only word she can think of to describe his face, other than perhaps gentle, is determined.

He approaches them, his eyes big and brown and full of worry. "My son," he says. "My son, I think he's inside. Kurt Hummel?"

Sadie's stomach drops. "Kurt," she repeats slowly. She and Kyle exchange a glance.

It didn't go unnoticed. "What? I saw that look, what do you know? Where's my son?" he demands.

"Sir," Kyle starts in the icy, professional tone everyone on the force has perfected.

Sadie stops him with her hand. "Mr. Hummel, right?" she says kindly, taking a step forward. She smiles warmly when he nods, moves to lead him back toward the ambulance. Jason takes a hint and jumps up so the man can sit down. She offers him her coffee, handing it to a pleased-looking Jason when he declines. "Mr. Hummel-"

"Burt." Kurt's father, Burt, shakes his head. "Look lady, I appreciate the niceties or whatever, but I need you to tell me where my kid is."

She looks into his hopeful, unblinking eyes. "Um." She takes a deep breath, looking away. "Kurt's friend Noah and a few others escaped from the cafeteria where a handful of armed students were holding them hostage," she begins steadily. "Apparently, uh, your boy's a bit of a hero."

"What?" Burt looks at his hands.

"The, the exit door to the cafeteria kitchen only locks from the inside," Sadie continues, watching his face carefully. Licking her lips, she decides to do it all in one go. "Kurt knew that and he, he stayed behind to lock the shooters in so his friends could get away." Now that she thinks about it, Kurt's a pretty damn brave kid.

Burt lets out the breath he'd apparently been holding. He doesn't seem all that surprised. Sadie grins at him, impressed. He runs a hand across his forehead beneath his baseball cap. "He alright?" he asks after a moment.

"I'm, uh, afraid we don't know that part just yet. But I can promise you that we're doing everything we can." She winces at how counterfeit that sounds.

"Yeah, lady. I'm sure you are," he says tiredly, slumping back on the ambulance's rear hatch in defeat.

Sadie looks at him sadly.

The shock starts to wear off after a while. He feels cold which is understandable considering a good portion of his blood is now lying in a pool around his body. His heart rate is slower, breathing unsteady. He finds it easier to focus now, though, focus on the stillness of the room, the rhythmic dripping of the faucet overhead.

Kurt blinks up at the ceiling. He's shivering. He knows that it's blood pooling hot against the back of his neck, probably getting into his hair. His skin tingles with it. Not to mention there's no way in hell he can save this top now, Marc Jacobs or not. Blood is like chocolate as far as stains are concerned. He learned that the hard way.

He rolls his eyes at himself. Here he is, bleeding out on the floor of his high school cafeteria kitchen, contemplating the tragedy he's now wearing. How very predictable.

His arm is asleep. When he goes to move it, pain flares the upper right half of his body. He wants his dad. He wants Blaine.

Blaine. He remembers vaguely their conversation on the phone earlier, though in his mind it sounds like they were both speaking through mouthfuls of cotton. _"Where are you? I'm in Schuester's class, I was so scared. Are you okay?"_

Schuester's class. Schuester's class isn't that far, he muses. He wants Blaine. It's not that far.

"Go," he whispers to himself, clenching his teeth against the raw heat in his back as he heaves up into a sitting position. He takes a moment to catch his breath. He wants Blaine. Bracing himself with his hands on the sink, he gets to his feet, legs quaking unsteadily under his weight. The blood that remains in him seems to rush to his head all at once and he leans heavily on the tabletop. _Deep breaths_, he reminds as he tries not to pass out, _just like Dad always told you when you were sick. In through the nose and out through the mouth_.

When he feels okay – and the term is used loosely – Kurt takes a step forward. His body aches in protest. _Breathe_. The pounding in his head is relentless, almost overpowering, but he wants Blaine. "Go."

He makes it to the door, first checkpoint reached, falling ungracefully against the frame to hold him up. His lungs are burning almost as harshly as the wound in his side as he gasps in exertion.

It's hard to ignore the images of his peripheral vision as he steps out into the cafeteria, eyes fixed firmly on the exit across the room. He tries not to let himself look and is for the most part successful, until his legs give out a little more than halfway to his second checkpoint.

Kurt looks up once he realizes he hasn't passed out and nearly screams. He counts thirteen. Thirteen bodies, lying lifeless across the tarnished linoleum. Thirteen pairs of eyes staring at nothing, some partially closed. There's so much red, Kurt can't tell who it belongs to.

He looks away, only to have his eyes land on the still form of Dave Karofsky. He does scream then. With a weak breath of preparation, his face hot and tear-stained, he pushes himself up on his knees and crawls over to him.

All the days this boy has made Kurt's life a living hell… They all seem so miniscule in comparison: shoved up against lockers or thrown into a dumpster compared to a bullet to the chest. Dave didn't deserve this. Kurt lifts two delicate fingers to pull the boys eyelids shut. He looks at him for a moment, Dave's round face relaxed and almost peaceful, the most serene Kurt's ever seen him. "Bye, Dave," he whispers finally, brokenly. He wants Blaine.

The sharpness in his back doesn't let up as he crawls on all fours toward the door, gritting through his teeth, "Go."

It's times like this Kurt is thankful for his moderately high tolerance for pain. He makes it to the door with an odd feeling of weightlessness, tasting blood as he chews his tongue to keep from crying out every time the bullet shifts a little inside him. He can see the windows to Schue's class – the one furthest from him his shattered with tiny shards of glass all over the floor beneath.

Kurt whimpers in defeat, tears of fear and exhaustion trailing down his face and neck. He slumps against the nearest locker – Artie's oddly enough – and for the second time this morning, Kurt falls asleep with Blaine's name on his lips.

Anyone still with me? Anyone? Anyone at all? :3


	7. Part Seven

I know the updates are usually really far apart and I'm sorry for that – school's been kicking my ass lately. Patience is appreciated. Thanks for reviewing guys!

Sadie's eyes are trained down the nose of her gun as she stands up from creeping through the window into a classroom near the gym. Four children had just come up from the PE yard, making it more or less safe to assume that this part of the school was opportune for entry. The room is still, quiet. That is, until Jason speaks up.

"I can't believe you convinced the chief to let us do this," he grumbles, following closely behind her. She glances down – his knuckles are stretched white over his medical bag.

She shrugs. "It wasn't that hard. She and Burt Hummel are apparently old friends; it's not like she's about to let his kid die. And I'm a Marshall, Jase, she trusts me with this. She literally said, '_Sarillo, I'm trusting you with this_,'" she mocks in Chief Tanner's relatively deep voice. Jason shakes his head fondly. "Besides, I wanted to help. You didn't have to come," she points out as she moves a chair quietly out of the way with her free hand.

"No, no, I wanted to." The silence is tense for a moment as they move toward the door, Sadie peering out into the hall. "That doesn't mean you don't owe me a drink if we live through this, though."

Sadie rolls her eyes and steps over the threshold of the classroom. The hallway is virtually empty, save for the mess of books and paper. There's glass on the floor underneath a window that's fragmented in such a way that it couldn't have been bullets, no, something bigger. She realizes that those kids must've broken out that way. Bold little shits.

The rubber soles of Jason's work boots crunch loudly on the glass and Sadie shoots a glare at him over her shoulder. "Seriously?" she snaps in a whisper. But he's not looking at her. His eyes are fixed somewhere over her head. "What is it?"

He lifts his head a little, mouth open like he's going to say something, but no sound comes out. He clears his throat. "Um. There's…"

Sadie turns her head slowly, gripping her gun tightly like a lifeline. There's a boy near the turn off in the middle of the corridor, opposite the cafeteria. He's not moving beyond the slight rise and fall of his chest, situated stiffly against the lockers. This all just became very real.

"Let's go," she breathes, keeping her weapon raised defensively at the end of the hall as the two of them make their way to the boy.

Jason kneels beside him, lifting two fingers to check his pulse. Nodding a little to himself, he pats the boy's face. "Hey kid, can you hear me?" The boy's eyes flutter open and he starts at the sight of the two of them standing over him. "Hey, it's okay, we're here to help. Can you tell me your name?" Jason asks.

Sadie starts to walk toward the cafeteria, alert and marginally prepared to face a roomful of God knows what in search of Burt's son when the boy's voice stops her.

"Kurt," he says coarsely. "My name's Kurt."

She whips back around to see Jason staring back with the same look of relief and surprise. "Do you know where you are, Kurt?" Jason asks the boy, scanning the bloodied back of his shirt and neck. Sadie squats down next to them, eagerly awaiting his response.

Kurt frowns, squinting up at him. "School?" he retorts, as though it's the stupidest question in the world.

The corner of Sadie's mouth quirks up. "That's good, sweetheart. Do you remember what happened?"

The boy's stony expression falters, his lip quivering. When he speaks, it's hardly above a breath. "Yes."

"Were you shot?"

He closes his eyes. "Yes."

"Okay. You're going to be okay, Kurt," Jason assures him. "Is it alright if I take a look at your back?"

He nods and Sadie helps Jason get him off the lockers so that she's holding Kurt up while he looks him over. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut your shirt," he admits, already reaching for his bag. He pulls out a pair of bandage scissors. Kurt winces when he starts to snip away at the cloth.

"We'll buy you a new one," Sadie promises with a tight-lipped smile and the boy grins weakly back.

"Speak for yourself," Jason mutters. She glares at him. "What? This shit looks expensive."

Kurt snorts. "It was." There's a moment of just Jason working and the trio's breathing, then he asks, ever so softly, "Are you going to take the bullet out?"

"No," Jason answers immediately. "No, I'll let a surgeon do that. Looks like your bullet might be what's stopping the bleeding, or at least slowing it down." He resumes his work and the boy closes his eyes.

"So what's new with you, Kurt?" she asks, attempting to distract him while Jason packs his wound with gauze. She can tell he's trying to be delicate but every now and then Kurt whimpers in pain. He's tough though, tries to cover it with a cough or by clearing his throat. "Any girlfriends?" she says sarcastically.

The look she gets for that one is priceless.

"Boyfriends then," she amends with a wink.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "A boyfriend, yeah. Blaine."

"Blaine," she repeats thoughtfully. "Sounds cute."

"The cutest." His expression changes, grows impossibly darker as though he wasn't pale as a sheet. "I don't – Ow, Jesus!"

"Sorry." Jason doesn't look up from his work.

Kurt sighs. "I don't know where he is. He said he was in Schue's class but – but when I got here, there was glass all over the floor and –"

Sadie's features fix in realization. "Hey, he's fine. He got out through the gym, with an Asian girl, right?"

"Tina," Kurt sniffles, nodding.

She smiles at him warmly, gently rubs his arm in comfort. "He's fine, sweetheart, don't you worry."

Kurt visibly relaxes, his eyes falling closed. "He's fine," he repeats, like he's trying to convince himself.

Sadie continues stroking her thumb over his forearm, not sure what else she can do to help him.

"Burt!" he calls, shrugging out of the cop's grip. He ignores Tina yelling after him as he ducks through the crowd toward the ambulance. Burt stands when he sees him and Blaine can't help the tears that well in the corners of his eyes.

He jogs until Burt's arms are around him and the world's horror seems to fade away just for a minute.

"Are you alright?" Burt asks him and he nods against the man's shoulder, gripping the back of his shirt tightly. Burt holds him just as tight until his arms slacken a little.

"Have you heard from Kurt?" Blaine asks as he pulls back. Burt gestures for him to sit on the bumper. He lands hard, looking around wearily. "He's in the kitchen. The cafeteria-"

"They're already on it, bud." Burt sits down next to him and gives him a soothing pat on the back. "They've got people goin' after him right now," he assures, though his posture implies feign confidence.

Blaine stares off into the flurry of police officers and bystanders and news people, smiling distractedly at Tina as she's lead to a car by her mother, waving at them sadly. His face falls as soon as she turns away. "How'd they know where he was?"

Burt tells him about Puck and the other glee kids, most of what Officer Sarillo had told him earlier. Blaine can tell he's leaving some things out but he doesn't comment on it, seeing as when it's his turn to talk, he doesn't tell Burt how frail and pained Kurt sounded on the phone.

Instead, when they've run out of things to say, Blaine takes time to appreciate the fact that his boyfriend is a hero. Burt notices before Blaine does that he's crying, rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. Together they wait.

"Dude," Charlie mutters.

He's the first of the five of them file out of the cafeteria, and they each take on a slightly different response to the wide stretch of deserted hallway that's littered heavily with books and bags and papers. Glenn watches for Michelle's reaction, though there isn't much of one. It's never been so quiet here and she bathes in it, her eyes gleaming with a sort of contentment. Val and Linz exchange an amused glance.

"This is crazy," Charlie continues, kicking a Geometry textbook to the side. "I mean, I knew everybody would run and hide and stuff but. Damn." He lifts his gun, fires a few shots down the hallway, laughing at the echoes as a window at the far end shatters, blanketing the floor beneath with shards.

"Would you knock it off?" Michelle pushes past him. "The police should be here by now. Not a lot of time to play." She heads to the first classroom on the right and clicks the door open. With a quick scam of the room, she shuts the door again.

Charlie pouts a little, his face growing a little green when it dawns on him. "Wait, does that mean it's almost time to…?"

They all turn to look at her as Charlie trails off and a thick fog of grim anticipation seems to settle over them in the quiet hallway.

"Oh, don't give me those looks," Michelle scoffs, looking between them in indifference. "You knew this was coming. I don't see the point in going from classroom to classroom if it's all coming down anyway. Let's just do this."

Nobody moves for several seconds.

"Let's go!" she snaps suddenly and the four of them jump at the volume of it.

"Okay, wait a minute, I still have a shitload of ammo left," Charlie points out, gesturing to the strip of bullets on his belt. Michelle gives him a look and his shoulders sag. "At least let me get rid of the shotgun shells?"

She rolls her eyes. She looks tired. "You know what? I don't even care anymore. Do whatever the hell you want to." She starts to walk off, but Glenn stops her.

"We have a plan, remember?" he says pointedly, wrapping a hand around her elbow. Her posture relaxes a little at his touch. "Charlie, you can do without a few extra souls on your ticket, okay? You'll get over it."

"What, in the ten minutes of life I've got left?" Charlie rolls his eyes.

Glenn laughs shortly, punching him in the shoulder. "Okay, let's get this party started. Or, continued?"

Val distributes the cherries from her bag, one for her, for Val, for Charlie, and one for Glenn and Michelle to take together. They all stare between each other for a moment. A loud crash in a nearby hallway makes them collectively start again – even Michelle gasps a little.

"What the hell was that?" Charlie asks. "What, cops?!"

"Who cares, let's just hurry this up," Michelle says coolly, masking her panic with ease. She tosses the grenade around a little in her hand, quite literally taunting death as she smirks. "It's kind of nice knowing this school ends with us, don't you think? Almost sort of like, I don't know, closure?"

Valerie shrugs. "I'm just glad I got a couple shots in before this all went to hell with Karofsky fucking things up. Watching Charlie put a bullet in his head was probably my favorite part of the day," she chuckles darkly, scratching her temple with the nose of her gun. She puffs air to get a wisp of hair out of her face. "I think we did good, though, considering."

Glenn nods to himself, a grin spreading slowly across his face. "It's been a pleasure, boys and girls."

Valerie laughs. "See you guys in Hell, eh?" She hip-bumps Linz who wipes away a tear before it can fall, smiling weakly back at her.

"Here goes nothing, I guess," Charlie sighs.

Glenn offers Michelle his arm. "Shall we?"

With one last look, the group spreads out to the ends of the four main hallways.

"Everyone in position?" Michelle calls after a few minutes of quiet, eerie calm. At the others' affirmations, she counts down. "Five."

Valerie bounces from foot to foot restlessly, cracks her neck.

"Four."

Lindsay tries to get her sobs under control, hands shaking violently.

"Three."

Charlie squeezes his eyes shut and whispers a quick prayer under his breath.

"Two."

Glenn and Michelle exchange a heated kiss and smile at each other knowingly.

"One."

They pull their respective pins.

_Boom. _


	8. Part 8

Can you say writer's block? Because I certainly can. Fuck's sake. I finally got part of this out. It's short and it probably sucks, but it's here. Thanks for being patient!

Jason and Sadie exchange a quick glance. He stands up, says, "All set. Think you can walk?"

The boy squints up at him and if Sadie didn't know any better she'd think it was one hell of a bitch glare. "If you help me, I'm sure I could. I do have a bullet in my back, you know," he snickers.

Sadie laughs and stands back as Jason helps him to his feet, both of their brows creasing in concentration. "I'll go ahead," she says, raising the gun at the empty space ahead of them. "You got him?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go on," Jason replies, voice slightly strained.

She makes her way back to the classroom they came from, checking each door for movement before waving them forward.

Sadie watches their feet as they crunch over the glass. "Careful," she warns. She notes Kurt's footwear with a wry look. "Those are some nice boots, kid. Seriously, where do even find clothes like that in a town like this?" she asks as they reach the doorway.

"There's this new thing called online shopping, maybe you've heard of it –"

Kurt's retort is cut off by a deafening, thunder-like sound.

"What the hell was that?!" Sadie shouts from her stance on the floor, looking over at Jason who's covering Kurt protectively near the door.

He shakes his head. "It sounded like…" Something dark crosses his face as plaster rains down from the ceiling in little chunks, accompanied by puffs of white dust. "We've got to go," he states firmly, helping Kurt back up. "This building's going to fall."

Blaine's never seen Burt Hummel run before.

One minute, he's there on the bumper with a strong, flannel-clad arm around Blaine's shoulders. The next, following a dense rumbling noise that hurts his ears, Burt's gone.

"Wh –" He jumps to his feet to try and follow but falls back when one of the EMTs darts by, nearly clipping him in the arm with the oxygen tank he's carrying. "Burt!" There's a cloud of brownish-gray smoke billowing up from somewhere near the left end of the school. Blaine gapes in shock. _What was that? A bomb? Holy shit, what if it was a bomb_ – he shakes his head a little and darts after Burt.

The crowd is thick, policemen and people with cameras, all with horrified looks on their faces. Everyone's watching the sky as it fills with gray. Blaine ignores them, shoving through the people with uncharacteristic aggression, heart pounding.

"Burt!" _Please don't leave me, I've already lost him, please_-

He reaches a break in the flurry of bodies at the edge of the parking lot and stops dead in his tracks. A police woman and a man in an EMT uniform are limping away from the window by the gym, something pale and hanging limply between their dust-ridden bodies. He stops breathing, doesn't have to look harder to know. _Kurt_.

Two men have followed Burt with a stretcher and Blaine covers his mouth with his hand as they life Kurt up onto it, securing an oxygen mask over his face. He's not wearing a shirt and his chest is a sickly shade of white, but Blaine hardly notices because there's _blood_ there. Kurt's blood. Kurt's _bleeding_. He can see Kurt's eyes from where he is – those gorgeous, blue-green orbs so full of life and love not two hours ago, now barely open and faded gray, watching his father's face as he's wheeled toward Blaine, who feels like he might float out of his own body.

He shifts out of their way numbly, his eyes unmoving from Kurt's still beautiful – always beautiful – face. Burt's holding his son's hand, talking to him and all Blaine can do his stand there like an idiot. The tears seem to burn as they cascade down his cheeks and over his hand, still clasped firmly over his mouth.

They park the gurney to prepare the ambulance and Kurt lifts a shaky hand to remove the mask from his face. "Dad, I'm fine, please," Blaine hears him say and something in his stomach twists sharply. Then, "Blaine."

A dam seems to collapse in him at the broken sound of his name on Kurt's pale lips.

"Dad, where's Blaine? You need to find him. He could still be inside–"

Burt looks up at him then and Blaine sprints the short distance to them, needing no more of an invitation than that. He bends over the gurney. "I'm here," he breathes, finding Kurt's hand. It's cold. "Kurt, baby, I'm right here."

There they are, those stunning, owlish eyes staring into his with a mixture of surprise and relief. They're a little duller than usual, but they're there. Kurt reaches up, his trembling fingers tracing lightly over Blaine's mouth and chin. He smiles weakly and whispers, "Hi."

Blaine laughs but it comes out as more of a sob. "Hey, baby. How are you feeling?"

Kurt hums, "Peachy." His teeth chatter slightly and he grimaces. "'M cold," he adds.

The EMT that had helped Kurt out of the school, a tall black man – Jason, Blaine thinks he heard someone say – appears with a wool blanket and Burt helps him to tuck it around Kurt's torso while Blaine rubs his arms for warmth, breathing hotly onto one of his hands.

"We're ready to go," the man tells them and after a swift kiss to Kurt's forehead, Blaine steps away so the paramedics can load him into the back of the ambulance. Kurt squeezes his eyes shut against the unsmooth movement of the gurney as Jason replaces the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

He and Burt look at each other, reflecting looks of fear, concern and hesitance.

"I'll, uh, I'll meet you at the hospital," Blaine says before Burt can because, as much as he wants to be the one holding his hand, Kurt needs his dad right now. And besides, Burt looks about as terrified as Blaine feels. The older man tosses him the keys to his truck and Blaine smiles gratefully, realizing he didn't actually have other means of transport with Tina gone. With a small nod, Burt climbs into the ambulance and Jason closes the doors and then Kurt's gone again.

Despite the fact that I'm very much aware of how mediocre this is, I hope you like it. Thanks for bearing with me.


End file.
